


love as silent as fireworks

by raventiques



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pianist, Fluff, Lee Taeyong-centric, M/M, yutae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 11:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14331726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raventiques/pseuds/raventiques
Summary: taeyong plays. yuta dances. somewhere in between, they fall in love.





	love as silent as fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> i'm really sorryyy i don't know what this is. i've been feeling really bad recently so i was in the mood to write something Soft and this was born!! it's literally just yutae falling in love i apologise for the lack of plot i just wanted soft and fluffy yutae.
> 
> ~~also, can you tell that i have no idea how a[piano](http://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1064/6612/products/yamaha-m1ar-upright-piano-satin-walnut_grande.png?v=1505594292) works.~~

   Taeyong lived in between black and white keys, was born among notes and melodies and tunes and grew up falling in love with symphonies and scales, rather than people.

   His only dream had ever been to play. To play, with the world watching, in awe as his fingers slid over the keys, leaving the entire room in silence, stunned by the magic of his hands and the instrument in front of him.

   He played until his fingers were numb, hearing his instructor grunt a harsh _again_ after a less than impressed silence of his countless attempt at his latest piece. He played until he wanted to cry (and he often did), because he wasn’t good _enough_. He’d never get where he wanted to be, because nobody seemed to appreciate his playing more than himself.

   (And even Taeyong wasn’t sure if he liked his own playing that much.)

   Despite all of this, despite the cascade of tears, skipped meals and sore hands, Taeyong was content.

   He _was_ the piano, the piano was him, and he’d never stop until he could achieve his dream. Until people could see and hear what he’d never be able to say with words.

   It was what kept Taeyong going. All that he had. All that he _needed_.

   Until he met Yuta.

   Taeyong was playing away, his eyes and ears focused on the instrument in front of him, the tune streaming from it, sounding _good_ but not good _enough_. It still wasn’t enough, _it wasn’t enough_. Not something that people would pay to hear, not something _anyone_ would want to hear-

   When he stopped playing, when he reached the end, he inhaled, refusing to admit that he was waiting for an applause that would never come.

   (Though, what came next was practically the same thing. If not, _more_.)

   “Oh, _wow_.”

   A breathless voice made Taeyong’s eyes blink open, darting towards the direction it came in.

   In the doorway stood another boy, with sparkling eyes and parted lips. The sports bag and gym wear made Taeyong think that he was an athlete of some kind, combined with his long limbs and broad shoulders-

   As soon as Taeyong’s eyes met the other boy’s, he blinked in surprise.

   “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” he trailed off; looking behind him as if he was waiting for someone else to explain. “I just went to the wrong room. This is 127, right?”

   Taeyong nodded.

   The other boy bit his lip, torn between whether he should stay or leave.

   “You play really well. I’ve never heard anything like that before.”

   It took Taeyong by surprise; he’d never met this stranger. Yet, the soft and genuine words sounded more sincere than anything his instructor had ever said to him, somehow meant more than the typical compliments spouted by his parents. For whatever reason, it made his heart beat slightly faster and his face slightly redder and Taeyong couldn’t explain why.

   “Th-thank you,” Taeyong said lowly, so lowly that he was afraid that the other boy hadn’t heard it.

   “You’re welcome,” the other boy shifted, his sports bag banging against his hip and providing the only other sound in the room besides the ticking of the clock. “I’ll…I’ll head back to my room, then. 119, it was.”

   He turned to exit the room through the already open door. Something in Taeyong turned, too; something told him to intervene, to keep this boy from leaving, even just for a little bit longer.

   “Wait,” Taeyong called slightly louder than intended. He paused, and Taeyong gulped. “I-I can play some more. If you want.”

   He turned to him, and on his face was the brightest smile that Taeyong had ever seen, and suddenly, his own piano playing didn’t matter. Because _that smile  alone_ was worthy of a standing ovation.

 

-

 

   The boy danced.

   Yuta was his name, introducing himself with that same wide smile as he stretched. If possible, Taeyong would have cupped that name and put it in his pocket to cherish forever, because it was _his_ name.

   Of course, Taeyong couldn’t say this, so he just nodded and repeated the name back.

   (“Nakamoto Yuta. You’re Japanese?”

   “I am. You wouldn’t think it, would you?”

   He _actually_ winked.)

   Yuta stopped. Watching him, and Taeyong couldn’t take his eyes away. Even before he started dancing, Taeyong was _enchanted_ by him, by the only person who seemed to show an open interest in Taeyong’s piano playing, who had accidently stumbled upon him and was clearly reluctant to leave.

   “Are you going to start playing?” Yuta asked him, a small smile on his face.

   Taeyong blinked.

   “Oh, of course!” He fiddled with the music sheet, even though he didn’t need it, making himself comfortable because he was staring too much at this boy who he had met less than twenty minutes ago.

   He cleared his throat, setting down his fingers and began to play.

   And almost as soon as Taeyong had hit the first key, the first note, Yuta began to dance.

   He danced, outstretching his limbs and absorbing each note as they flowed through the room. He followed the tune perfectly, his body taking the lead, turning and swishing like the leaves in autumn, like a field of flowers in the wind.

   Taeyong watched as Yuta mixed grand and loose transitions with intricate and precise motions, his movements creating its own language _beyond_ minims, crotchets and quavers, a language that Taeyong would never fully understand.

   (But _God_ , he so badly wanted to.)

   Taeyong was lucky that this was a piece he knew like the back of his hand, because he would have stopped playing out of astonishment if it was anything otherwise.

   It took a five minute piano piece, but Taeyong fell in love with dance – and with the piano, again.

   The boy danced, and for a moment, it was all that Taeyong cared about.

 

-

 

   It slowly became their thing. Taeyong would play, and Yuta would dance.

   It didn’t matter what Taeyong played, because whatever he played, Yuta would dance along, making up his moves – _improvising_ – while Taeyong would play his carefully planned and practice piece. The juxtaposition between them only became more and more apparent as time went on.

   “Do you dance professionally?” Taeyong asked him after one of their sessions, when Taeyong was waiting by the door. Most of the time, Yuta left first, and Taeyong didn’t mind. He needed time to recover from the stupid sensation growing in his chest, to calm down his heart from fluttering when Yuta complimented his playing and said his name like he was holding the most precious flower in the universe.

   “What? Oh, no. No, God no,” Yuta shook his head quickly. “I tried that, but no. I just dance in my free time. When I feel like it.”

   He was ready to go, slinging his sports bag over his shoulder and turning off the light as they both left the room.

   “You tried it,” Taeyong confirmed. Yuta hummed.

   “Yeah. When I was young. But it kind of took the fun out of dancing for me, so I stopped,” he said.

   “Oh.”

   They walked in silence, through the maze that was the music room building, down the long flight of stairs that it took for them to get to room 127.

   Yuta continued. “It was…hard. Really really hard. My dance teacher was strict and it was three times a week and it just made me feel like I wasn’t good enough to be a dancer, you know?”

   Yuta looked at him, and Taeyong was suddenly aware of the fact that he was slightly taller, looking down at him with eyes that contained the stars and the ocean and everything in between.

   _Shit_.

   “I get it,” Taeyong said under his breath, all taken away because Yuta was standing quite close to him, their shoulders brushing against each other as they walked.

   Taeyong’s fingers traced over Yuta’s words, reflecting an alternate history of his own, in another universe, when Taeyong was close to quitting, crying on his stool and letting his tears hit the keys, or sobbing in the bathroom because he _failed_ and was a _failure_ and would never be where he wanted. When Taeyong would put his foot down and decide to stop, selling all of his piano equipment and never looking back.

   He loved it too much to ever do that, he thought now. But there had been many, _many_ times when he’d almost given up on his dream, deciding to just focus on music production degree instead.

   Perhaps he didn’t have to give up completely. He could still play when he felt like it, as Yuta described, but it didn’t need to be something to constantly shed tears over.

   Did it?

   (He loved it too much.)

   Taeyong remembered what his sister told him years ago, at the tender age of eight, when he first cried over the instrument, frustration pouring out of him because he just couldn’t get it right.

   _If you ever cry over something – or someone – you either keep that thing close, or you let it go_.

   (Taeyong didn’t have the heart, the strength, or the courage to let any of it go.)

   “You’ve been playing since you were seven?” Yuta clarified with him, something that Taeyong had mentioned weeks ago. Taeyong nodded, Yuta letting out a low whistle.

   “It started in school, and then…I think I just realised that I wanted more. I loved it and I didn’t want it to just be something casual,” he said, his voice still quiet because he had never really explained it all to anyone before. Taeyong trusted his hands, but trying to find the right words was like trying to hold sand, and he could barely scrape a handful. “It’s not just a hobby for me. It’s _everything_.”

   He looked up, only to find that Yuta was already looking at him, those same ocean eyes calling him away from the comfortable sand he resided on.

   Taeyong looked away. “Does that make sense?”

   “Yeah. It makes sense.”

 

-

 

   “You know, Taeyong. I really admire you.” Yuta said to him over the piano one time. Taeyong had no idea that Yuta had walked over, but there he was, leaned over the flat edge, his long arms folded and his pretty face looking down at Taeyong’s own, flustered expression.

   “W-what?”

   “I said that I really admire you. You’ve been practising and playing since you were a kid. You take lessons _and_ do a music degree _and_ you play in your free time. That’s unreal dedication,” he explained, the tone in his voice rapidly changing and sounding like that first, genuine compliment he gave over a month ago. “And you’re one of the best piano players I’ve ever heard. I mean that.”

   If Taeyong had a piano in his chest right now (and a part of him sincerely believed that he did), the keys would be aggressively pressing down, continually, non-stop at Yuta’s words.

   Taeyong didn’t have a piano in his chest, but he had something called a heart that was basically the same thing, and it wouldn’t stop beating at an absurdly high tempo that Taeyong had never felt before.

   (This was bad.)

   “Oh,” Taeyong whispered, unable to bring himself to look at Yuta because he wanted his stupid heart to _calm down_.

   Taeyong took a deep breath.

   “Thank you,” was all that he could bring himself to say. He looked up and their eyes met, Yuta smiling at him and leaving Taeyong in a reserved silence.

   “I’m not just saying that you know. Back when I used to have dance lessons, we sometimes had pianists come in and play for us. And none of them…well, none of them had as much passion as you do.”

   Taeyong paused.

   “Thank you,”

   Yuta waved a hand. “You don’t have to thank me.”

   “You’re complimenting me. I have to say thank you.”

   Yuta stared at him. “I’m guessing that you’d thank every person who would compliment your playing then?”

   “Of course.”

   Yuta continued staring at him, tilting his head sideways. His skin was soft and his eyes were deep and Taeyong could feel himself turning red.

   “I really admire you, Taeyong,” repeated Yuta, and Taeyong thought that a thousand compliments in the world could _never_ compare to Yuta’s own, honest words.

   (The ocean was calling him, and Taeyong couldn’t bring himself to turn away.)

 

-

 

   It had to stop, Taeyong realised.

   Yuta was affecting him more than he wanted to acknowledge. Usually, whenever he played piano, he thought of his dream, occupying a stage under a single spotlight while an audience full of thousands watched him, mouths hanging open, eyes piercing and ears attentively listening to _Taeyong_.

   He thought of people travelling all over the world to hear him, trading stories about how this acclaimed pianist had started off as a naïve seven-year-old who enjoyed music class in school and never stopped. He thought about the round of applause that would wait for him after every performance, with screams of how it was _perfect_ , not knowing how many tears and sleepless nights it took to get there.

   Now, he thought about Yuta. Yuta _and_ his dancing. When he played, he pictured Yuta’s long arms outstretched, how his legs would leap and his torso would turn with each new note. He thought about the concentrated expression on his face and sharp movements that contrasted with his soft smile and skin. Instead of wanting to hear the appraisal of thousands, he was content with just one, and Taeyong wondered whether this new way of thinking would potentially destroy his piano playing.

   “This is the fourth time you’ve made that mistake,” his instructor fumed, irritation like icicles against his voice. “You’ve been working on this piece for months, and you’re still unable to master it. Tell me, you’re not giving up now?”

   Taeyong inhaled. “No,” he said through gritted teeth.

   “That’s at least good to hear,” he muttered. “Again.”

   Taeyong tried once again, thinking of his dream, alone in front of the world watching with eager owl eyes, only to make the same mistake.

   He tried again, instead, thinking of Yuta, and the flow of his long limbs, the sharp twists and turns of his torso and joints, only to make the same mistake again.

   He tried a final time, thinking about what a failure he was, about how he could never master anything else if he couldn’t master this, about the recitals he’d lost rather than won. About how his pathetic dream would always remain just that; a dream.

   Taeyong wanted to cry.

   “This isn’t working,” he huffed. “Are you tired? Have you eaten?”

   “I’m fine,” he mumbled. “I just need more practice.”

   “Of course you do,” he said, disbelief evident in his voice. “It’s a difficult piece, I understand, but it’s the same mistake, Taeyong.”

   “I know.”

   Taeyong sat in front of the instrument, staring down as his hands rested on the keys, wondering why they weren’t good enough. Why _he_ wasn’t good enough.

   _You’re one of the best piano players I’ve ever heard. I mean that_.

   Taeyong closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

   “You’re tired,” his instructor said. “Go home and come an hour early on Monday.”

   Taeyong didn’t argue. Maybe he did need to rest, time to think about his stupid feelings and the boy with the ocean eyes who had taken him by storm.

   (That night, Taeyong spent more time staring at Yuta’s number on his phone instead of doing anything else productive, because he couldn’t bring himself to send the first message.

   When he should have been practicing, should have been working, Yuta was still on his mind.)

   _I really admire you, Taeyong._

   Taeyong shoved his head in his pillow and tried not to scream.

 

-

 

**_yuta_ **

_18:56: I feel like you’re never going to text me first_

_18:56: so hey_

**_taeyong_ **

_18:59: hey_

_18:59: :D_

**_yuta_ **

_19:00 see, that wasn’t so hard, was it !_

_19:00: hello Taeyong_

_19:00: how’s your day been? piano practice?_

**_taeyong_ **

_19:01: yesterday_

_19:01: it was horrible_

**_yuta_ **

_19:01: oh no :o_

**_taeyong_ **

_19:01: he thought I was too tired so he sent me home early to get some rest_

_19:02: apparently my mind was elsewhere_

**_yuta_ **

_19:04: oh_

_19:04: you did get some rest, though?_

**_taeyong_ **

_19:05: not really…_

**_yuta_ **

_19:05: Taeyong!!!_

_19:05: you think too much_

**_taeyong_ **

_19:05: I know_

**_yuta_ **

_19:06: it’s not good to keep your mind constantly preoccupied like that_

_19:06: sleeping helps_

**_taeyong_ **

_19:07: sometimes but not always_

_19:07: you’re fucked when not even your dreams are safe_

**_yuta_ **

_19:15: that’s true, I guess_

_19:15: what’s been on your mind?_

**_taeyong_ **

_19:17: A Lot_

_19:18: like you said_

_19:18: overthinking_

**_yuta_ **

_19:22: I see_

_19:22: you know you can always ramble to me, if you need to?_

**_taeyong_ **

_19:23: I don’t think you’d like my rambling very much_

_19:23: but thank you_

**_yuta_ **

_19:24: nonsense_

_19:24: I’d love to hear you ramble about anything_

_19:25: seriously_

**_taeyong_ **

_19:26: okay but would you??? really???_

**_yuta_ **

_19:26: yes_

_19:26: I really would_

**_taeyong_ **

_19:27: oh_

_19:27: thank you_

**_yuta_ **

_19:28: I’d tell you not to thank me but then I remembered that I’m talking to Lee Taeyong_

**_taeyong_ **

_19:28: you are_

**_yuta_ **

_19:29: I’m glad that I am_

**_taeyong_ **

_19:30: I’m glad that you are too_

**_yuta_ **

_19:30: (/^_ _▽_ _^)/_

-

 

   “I hope you don’t mind,” Taeyong said sheepishly the next time they met. “I want to play something that I haven’t exactly mastered yet.”

   Yuta nodded from where he stood in the middle of the empty space. “That’s okay. Play whatever you want.”

   Practice on Monday went _slightly_ better. He managed to play past the grave mistake that he always made just once, which was one time better than all of the other times that he failed completely.

   He tried to push Yuta out of his mind, ignoring their text conversations and how he _actually_ used the flower emoji when he called Taeyong pretty and managed to make Taeyong blush through a screen.

   (God, Taeyong was so _weak_.)

   Taeyong inhaled, opening the sheet music, because he really needed it this time. His eyes flicked down at the part he always slipped up on, _that_ part, and Taeyong’s confidence already dropped.

   He began to play, and Yuta began to dance. Even though he liked the song, the notes hurt, knowing that this was the piece that he could never master, the one that made him tumble and fall and drown and gave him the sudden urge to rip up the piece of paper and never play again.

   Yuta danced, but Taeyong couldn’t look. He _wanted_ to look, definitely, but his eyes remained glued on the sheets in front of him, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he played.

   The music stopped abruptly, his fingers stumbling – failing – to go any further.

   Taeyong sighed.

   Yuta had stopped as suddenly as the music had. Instead of a harsh frown and exasperated voice that bluntly told Taeyong to do it again, there was a soft and soothing _it’s okay, try again_ from a boy with a comforting smile and eyes that put the night sky to shame.

   Taeyong tried again.

   He tried again. And again, attempting to empty his mind and focus on the black and white keys in front him, the dark ink that his hands were unable to represent.

   Yuta danced every time, Taeyong catching the blur of his oversized t-shirt from the corner of his eye. He never got irritated, never questioned Taeyong’s abilities, never passive aggressively implied that it was _his_ fault or that _he_ wasn’t good enough.

   And Taeyong…needed that.

   “This is hopeless,” Taeyong muttered, after the nth attempt, his shoulders slumping, his eyes staring at the ground, looking past his hands.

   “No, it isn’t,” said Yuta from across him. He leaned against the flat surface as he usually did, his breath still taking its time to slow down. “You once got further.”

   “Once. Once, Yuta.” Even through his own ears, the fragility in his voice was unmistakable, the memories of all those times Taeyong wasn’t _enough_ spilling through and flooding his mind. He rested his hands in between his knees, willing himself not to cry. Not here. Not in front of Yuta.

   “Hey.” Before Taeyong could register, Yuta had brought himself around the instrument, taking a seat on the stool next to Taeyong. His shoulder was against Taeyong’s, warmth radiating the room and already making Taeyong feel… _better_.

   “It’s a complicated work. And the fact that you can already play this much of it already is its own accomplishment. You’ll get there; don’t worry,” he paused, as if he wanted to say something else, something _more_.

   Instead, he wrapped an arm around Taeyong’s shoulder, the feeling of the strong arm around him that could make delicate and detailed movements to music now creating celestial sensations in his chest. Yuta was _so_ soft, and warm, reminding Taeyong of the pleasant heat of the sun in spring. As soft as the summer grass, as soothing as the autumn air and as gentle as the winter snow.

   Without thinking, Taeyong rested his head against Yuta’s shoulder, relaxing against his touch, and Taeyong was suddenly convinced that he could sleep here of all places.

   (He didn’t.

   But he wanted to.)

   They stayed like that for who knew how long. Yuta rubbing his hand against Taeyong’s shoulder, Taeyong breathing deeply and desperately trying to stop himself from falling in love here and now. But he was already at the shore and didn’t want to take a step back.

   _You’ll get there, Taeyong. I believe in you._

   And in that moment, Taeyong believed him – and in himself – too.

 

-

 

   “Have you done ballet before?” Taeyong asked him one day, towards the end of their one hour slot in their usual room.

   “Yes!” Yuta responded enthusiastically, looking up at him from where he was stretching his arms. His _very_ muscular arms that Taeyong hadn’t noticed until today, when Yuta showed up and took of his jacket, revealing a sleeveless top that _really_ wasn’t good for Taeyong’s health.

   (Taeyong knew that he stared at Yuta a lot already, but _today_ -)

   “Yes, I did ballet for a couple of months when I was seven. It was mostly because my sister really wanted to, so our mother just enrolled us both,” he shrugged, a smile growing on his face. “Why, you can tell?”

   “Kind of,” Taeyong said. “It’s in your leaps and turns. It doesn’t exactly scream contemporary dance.”

   “Huh,” said Yuta, biting his lip.

   Taeyong blinked at him. “What?”

   “You either know a lot of about dance or you’re just really observant.”

   “Well,” Taeyong pretended to look around the room, as if he was looking for the right response that resided somewhere among the cream coloured walls. “I…I, uh, used to date a dancer.”

   Now it was Yuta’s turn to blink in surprise, clearly taken aback, his mouth opening and closing like he was looking for the right thing to say.

   Eventually, all he said was, “Oh.”

   “I mean, not exactly, _date_. B-but we talked a lot, and spent a lot of time together. I liked him and he liked me and when he confessed, I pushed him away because…” Taeyong gestured at the piano, the reason, the cause of all _this_. “So I know a lot about dance because of that.”

   Yuta was silent for an absurdly long time, his arms folded across his chest, jaw clenching.

   “I see,” he breathed, briefly glancing at the ground. Before Taeyong could say anything more, before he could even wince how stupid and careless he had been, Yuta lifted his sports bag and muttered a faint goodbye, his legs carrying him through the door and out of the room.

   (If Taeyong had a heart, it would have broken.)

   Taeyong sat there, wondering why he couldn’t open himself up as much as wanted to, why he was so terrified to distance himself from the piano for more than a couple of days. Why he let his dreams occupy him and blind him from reality, leaving him as a lonely boy in front of his piano, with nobody to listen and nobody to love.

   It was a painful reminder that he _shouldn’t_ be falling for something that he couldn’t have, that he shouldn’t want in the first place. The piano was supposed to come first. It _always_ came first, so why did it feel so different now?

   (Taeyong did cry.

   He also wanted to feel Yuta’s arm around him again.)

 

-

 

**_taeyong_ **

_21:26 yuta_

**_yuta_ **

_21:36 hey_

**_taeyong_ **

_21:36: hey_

_21:36: are you all right?_

**_yuta_ **

_21:38: of course_

_21:38: 2 hour lectures should be illegal_

**_taeyong_ **

_21:39: you’re right they should be_

_21:39: sounds rough_

**_yuta_ **

_21:40: yeah_

_21:43: it’s not good to push people away taeyong_

**_taeyong_ **

_21:49: I know_

_21:50: it’s just kind of hard not to_

_21:50: when you feel like you’re entire life is centred around something and you don’t want to fail_

**_yuta_ **

_21:51: I felt the exact same way with dance_

_21:51: seriously. it almost ruined me_

_21:51: just…keep reminding yourself that you’re a person outside of it. it’s not all you’re worth. and it’s not all that’s there. you could really miss out on a lot_

_21:52: and you won’t fail who tf told you that_

**_taeyong_ **

_21:52: I know_

_21:53: sometimes…sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if I quit_

**_yuta_ **

_21:54: very different I imagine_

_21:55: you think you’d still be playing? in your spare time?_

**_taeyong_ **

_21:55: it terrifies me that I don’t know the answer to that_

_21: 59: I’m glad that I didn’t quit though_

_22:00 because then I wouldn’t have met you_

**_yuta_ **

_22:27: I’m glad that you didn’t quit too <3_

 

-

 

   A fortnight went by before he saw Yuta again. Taeyong was too much of a coward to ask Yuta to another session, and Yuta hadn’t once brought it up.

   (Maybe it was for the best. For Taeyong’s sake, and Yuta’s, too.)

   He was seriously contemplating asking him himself, when he heard a knock on the door from the other side of the empty music room. Taeyong craned forward, attempting to see who could possibly be knocking on room 127 of all the rooms in the building, his heart stopping when he eventually saw who it was.

   “Y-Yuta?”

   The door swung open, the room quite literally lighting up when he walked in.

   “I’m sorry for showing up unannounced. I’ll leave if you want,” he leaned against the wall, his head facing the ceiling as he breathed deeply. “I’m just…done with it all, you know?” He eventually admitted, slowly, his eyes still facing the ceiling as if it was going to give him some kind of answer. “I feel like you of all people would be able to relate.”

   Taeyong nodded, the feeling all too familiar with him. Something a seven-year-old should not have been feeling, but did, because even at such a young age, his mind was fixated on perfecting the instrument, refusing to consider anything else because he already knew what he wanted.

   (Not a _who_. Never a who. Taeyong was never allowed to want anyone, so when he did, he pretended he didn’t.

   Maybe Taeyong wasn’t very good at pretending.)

   “Yuta,” said Taeyong. All he could bring himself to say, lost for words, because having Yuta here with him in that room somehow brought it all back. It had been two weeks, and texting wasn’t the same thing – no matter how many heart and flower emojis and _I enjoy talking to you_ messages were exchanged.

   Seeing Yuta again, the boy with soft, wavy hair that Taeyong wanted to run his hands through and diamond eyes that he could get lost in, only reminded Taeyong of how close he was to the deep end.

   “I can play you something? You don’t have to dance. You can just listen.”

   Yuta’s eyes met his, the familiar, wide smile spreading across his face and fracturing the steel walls that protected Taeyong’s heart from ever wanting a _who_ instead of a _what_.

   This wasn’t going away any time soon.

 

-

 

   This _really_ wasn’t going away any time soon, Taeyong thought, as Yuta leaned over the flat space of the piano as he usually did, he arms folded, his eyes fixated on Taeyong as he played.

   It occurred to Taeyong that this was the first time that he’d played in front of Yuta, without the other boy’s dancing to compliment it. Having Yuta simply listen, his lips pulled into a small smile as his head swayed to the beat, felt even more intimate, more significant than anything else they’d ever done.

   Taeyong looked up, taken by pleasant surprise when he saw Yuta’s eyes closed, getting lost among the slow, melodic notes. It was one of the first pieces Taeyong had learned, and one of the simplest, but it still remained a favourite. One of the tunes he fantasised of playing in the fully booked concert hall of his dreams.

   Yuta blinked his eyes open when it was over, crystalline eyes gazing down at him. They were the only two in the room, but it truly felt like they were the only two people in the entire world.

   And Taeyong had never wanted to kiss someone so badly.

   (He shouldn’t _want_ to, but he _did_.)

   “That was beautiful,” his soft voice reminiscent of the subtle waves of the ocean. “Really. I…I think it’s my favourite.”

   Taeyong’s eyes never left Yuta’s, inching closer towards the ocean, knowing full well that he didn’t know how to swim.

   “Mine too.”

 

-

 

**_yuta_ **

_1:04: you know_

_1:05: I could listen to you play piano forever_

**_taeyong_ **

_1:05: whyyyy are you awake_

_1:05: also, thank you_

**_yuta_ **

_1:05: why are /you/ awake ?_

_1:06: I was just thinking_

**_taeyong_ **

_1:07: about me? at 1am?_

**_yuta_ **

_1:07: yes_

_1:08: I know it doesn’t mean much but I just_

_1:08: I really love listening to you play, Taeyong_

_1:09: and I can tell that you enjoy it and it makes you happy_

_1:10: and that’s so so important_

**_taeyong_ **

_1:16: yuta_

_1:17: that means more to me than you know_

_1:17: thank you_

_1:17: now go to sleep_

**_yuta_ **

_1:18: don’t thank me_

_1:20: I’ll go to sleep if you go_

**_taeyong_ **

_1:21: can’t promise that sorry_

_1:22: I’m an over thinker first and a human second_

**_yuta_ **

_1:25: hm_

_1:27: that makes two of us_

_1:27:_ _（＾ｖ＾）_

 

-

 

   Saying that he was _in love_ was a bit of stretch, but it was closer to the truth than Taeyong would like to acknowledge.

   The coffee shop was entirely empty besides the two of them, and one other person who was frantically typing on their laptop in the corner.

   (Taeyong swore, it was like the universe was _trying_ to push them together.)

   Taeyong stared down at his coffee. A drink that he’d only had a handful of times and admittedly didn’t know that much about, so Yuta simply chose something for him when he was taking too long to order.

   “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but Japanese tea is so much better,” muttered Yuta, glancing around the empty room as if there was anyone else who could hear him. “Anyway, talk.”

   “I told you, it’s nothing.”

   “Hm,” Yuta took a sip of his tea, raising his eyebrows. “Every time I ask you to say what’s on your mind, it’s always about piano. To be perfectly honest, Taeyong, I think that it’s more than that. Actually, I _know_ that it’s more than that.”

   Taeyong kept his eyes around his drink, wondering how he could indirectly discuss the fact that he was kind of in love with a boy who dances, and had no idea what to do. Because playing piano had forced him to push people away, but now, it had instead pulled him closer to someone. Someone who Taeyong kind of wanted to kiss.

   “I don’t know where to start.”

   Yuta shrugged. “Wherever you like. It doesn’t have to be the beginning.”

   “Okay, well,” Taeyong took a deep breath. “I’m worried.”

   “About?”

   “I don’t know. The future?” He paused. “I thought that my entire life was wrapped around a piano and I’d spend forever concerned with playing for an audience and nothing else, but I feel like it’s all changed now.” He looked out of the window, catching the beginning of the sunset, shades of marigold disappearing under the clouds. "Now I…sometimes I just want to play for myself. Or for whoever wants to listen.” His voice grew small at the final sentence, the weak and desperate hint making Taeyong’s fingers curl because he didn’t know what subtlety was. He didn’t know whether Yuta saw himself in the category of _whoever wants to listen_.

   Yuta was silent for a long time, his brows furrowed as he took occasional sips from him tea.

   “You think that piano doesn’t mean as much to you anymore?”

   Taeyong shook his head. “No…I just think that it means something different. I kind of have a different motivation now.”

   Taeyong told him about his dream, his desire to become a renowned pianist, a best seller, a highly respected musician and to have thousands of people look up to him in admiration, with an applause and roses for his work.

   Now, he thought of playing for boy who danced, who could tell apart each song with his own movements, who would create his own choreographies that nobody but Taeyong would see. Who danced because he _enjoyed_ it, and not because it controlled him. Who danced like the world was waiting and he’d showed up just in time. Who enjoyed his playing, who was just as content sitting and listening to Taeyong play for an entire hour and _more_ if he had the courage to ask.

   (Taeyong didn’t mention any of this to Yuta, but he _did_ mention the fact he was terrified of never finding love, that he’d push away any and every opportunity, that he’d never find anyone who’d listen to him play for hours on end without getting bored.

   Yuta shook his head lightly, smiling against the cup of tea on his lips. _Don’t doubt yourself, Taeyong_ , was all he said, his voice so low that Taeyong thought he was speaking to himself at first.)

   They talked more about piano, about dance, and everything in between. And somewhere there, Taeyong was sure that he fell in love.

 

-

 

   The sky was mesmerising, deep shades of midnight blue and jet black, some faint stars twinkling in the sky if Taeyong focused enough past the city lights.

   They’d stayed in that café for almost four hours, their drinks long finished, rambling about anything and everything. Yuta talked the most, about the entire world, about Japan, about football, about his sisters and their antics and hopes and dreams. About _his_ hopes and dreams – or lack thereof.

   “I’m not really sure what I want to do,” he confessed, as they walked through the empty street, hushed besides their faint steps on the damp ground. It wasn’t as cold as it could have been, but Taeyong shivered slightly anyway. “I know I’m doing a sports science degree but I don’t…” he paused. “I don’t know what to do after that.”

   Taeyong hummed, listening intently.

   “I guess…I guess that’s why I really admire you. You’ve always known what you’ve wanted, while I’ve always been grasping at the darkness,” he laughed, forced and low, and Taeyong thought that there was more to Yuta’s words than he was letting on. Yuta shook his head, his dark brown hair bouncing. “Enough about me, anyway. I think I’ve done too much talking.”

   “No,” Taeyong said too quickly, too affirmatively, because Taeyong _liked_ Yuta and he _liked_ hearing him talk about anything and everything. He _liked_ being around him because he _liked_ him more than he wanted to admit. “I-I like hearing you talk.”

   “Oh,” Yuta blinked, his lips making an ‘o’ shape in genuine surprise.

   (Taeyong would really like to kiss Yuta right now.)

   “I like hearing you talk too, you know,” he nudged Taeyong casually, the touch triggering sparks in his chest, a firework explosion at bay.

   “I know,” Taeyong said, keeping his eyes focused on the ground. He knew that looking at Yuta would make it _worse_ , make him do or say something stupid that would ruin everything.

   They continued walking side by side, sparing each other glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking, the light splashes when their feet collided with a small puddle being the only sound that either of them really emitted.

   Yuta’s fingers brushed against Taeyong’s hand, the sensation tickling his skin, making him warmer despite the cold air. Yuta raised his eyebrow and Taeyong blinked at him.

   “I-”

   “You think too much, Taeyong,” Yuta said quietly, almost sadly. Without another word, he took Taeyong’s hand in his, warm and full and it suddenly felt like the entire universe was in his hands, the cosmos overwhelming him, the stars howling because Yuta was holding his hand and everything felt… _right_.

   Taeyong thought that Yuta would shift, would move his hand away, but he kept it there. Tightly clasped into Taeyong’s, fingers intertwined, swinging ever so lightly as they walked through the empty city street of the late evening blurring into the early night.

   (Maybe Taeyong did think too much.

   Maybe it really was that easy.)

 

-

 

   Taeyong was now certain that he actually had a heart – and not a piano – in his chest.

   It has been pounding non-stop, threating to erupt ever since Yuta held his hand the other day. Taeyong didn’t know exactly what it meant, and when he asked Yuta this over text, Yuta told him not to think about it too much and it could mean whatever he wanted it to mean.

   (What was _that_ supposed to mean?)

   It was still on Taeyong’s mind even days later, and now, he watched Yuta dance to one of the tunes Taeyong hadn’t played in years. An old piece that he didn’t think much of before, but was now on its way to become a personal favourite of his, because Yuta’s dancing was captivating as always. His limbs bent and curled in time with the music, the muscles of his back twisting and his soft hair bouncing with each movement.

   Taeyong really could watch Yuta dance forever.

   (And Taeyong could play the piano forever, so it worked out well for them both.)

   The song finished, Yuta taking a moment to catch his breath, one of his wrists resting on his forehead as he looked up.

   _God_ , Taeyong thought, _he’s beautiful_.

   “That was different,” said Yuta, his breath light and delicate and _healing_.

   “Oh,” Taeyong replied. “How so?”

   Yuta shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seemed different. More classical, maybe? The song that is.” He grabbed his water bottle from the top of the piano, taking a sip while Taeyong kept his eyes on him, wondering what _this_ was and what it meant. “I’ve been thinking.”

   “Overthinking,” Taeyong corrected, playfully. Yuta made eye contact with him, a small smile on his face that disappeared quicker than usual.

   “Kind of,” he sat down next to Taeyong on the wooden stool. Not as close as usual, the smallest of small gaps in between them. Yuta rested his hands on his knees, exhaling. “About the other day. I…I held your hand, didn’t I? I held it because I wanted to and for some reason, I knew that you wanted to, too.”

   He hesitated, biting his lip as he clenched and unclenched one of his fists. Taeyong thought that he just might do it again, take his hand in his and keep it there.

   “I know you’re scared. Maybe I am, as well.” Strands of hair fell around his eyes, honeyed leaves obscuring a garden that Taeyong wanted to get lost in. “But it doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be.”

   Taeyong sighed, mapping Yuta’s words coated in truth that he knew was hard to hear. Taeyong _was_ scared. Of what it meant, of how it could change things. Whether he’d be good enough, whether he’d let his dreams override and lose sight of what was in front of him. He was scared of what it was, _how_ strong it was, and just how much stronger it would be if he gave it a name instead of constantly comparing it to the songs he played.

   “I-I don’t even know what I want it to be,” said Taeyong, his voice small in the vast room. “I’m sorry.”

   Yuta nodded in understanding, the hint of dejection in his voice clear. “Don’t apologise. It’s okay.”

   (It did _not_ sound okay.)

   Minutes went by, the ticking of the clock reminding Taeyong that the future was imminent, and he really didn’t have much time left. He was sick of staring, of thinking, only playing and not _doing_. He knew that he had feelings for Yuta that didn’t go away when he thought they would, when he thought that they should have. He knew that he fell for a boy with a sunshine smile and ocean eyes whose dances reflected the rare rainbows of the sky. He knew that much, and maybe, that was enough.

   “I like you,” Taeyong said lowly, quickly, breathless and fraught. He was doing this, he was really doing this _now_ , rather than keeping himself up at night months down the line wondering why he _didn’t_. “Yuta. I really, _really_ like you. It’s scary because you and your dancing changed… _something_ in me. It changed how I played and how I thought and gave me a new perspective and…”

   He really wished that he was brave enough to look at Yuta as the words spilled over, but nerves got the better of him, and he looked downwards, as if he was speaking to the piano instead.

   “I don’t know what I want this,” he gestured in between the two of them, “to be. Not right now. But I know that I like you. And…I really want to kiss you.”

   Their eyes met. Yuta surveyed him briefly, his intense eyes scanning Taeyong, for less than a second, but a second was enough to make Taeyong’s heart race.

   It didn’t take much more than that. Yuta’s hands were soft as they cupped Taeyong’s face, his cloud-like lips kissing Taeyong tenderly, waves of warmth cleansing him. It was _sweet_ ; it was the delicate sounds of a slow piano piece, the world blessing them with all of the time it had to give. He could feel the red of his cheeks, the goosebumps of his skin as it collided with Yuta’s, the silent reassurance that _this was okay_ and that _everything would be all right_.

   (Taeyong was in front of a piano, but nobody was watching.

   For once, he didn’t mind.)

   Kissing Yuta was euphoric, a silent dream that Taeyong never realised he had.

   It didn’t have to be complicated. It didn’t have to be named, labelled, just yet. They both knew what it was, they both knew what they wanted. As long as _they_ both knew, that was enough. It was enough.

   And kissing Yuta like this, with his face in Yuta’s hands. Yuta, who _understood_ , who danced like he was born in the rain, like every star in the sky was watching him, Taeyong had never been more certain of anything.

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](http://twitter.com/raventiques) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/raventiques) / [yutae archive ](https://ao3feed-yutae.tumblr.com/)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!! comments and kudos are always appreciated.


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